


Placing a demand

by valiantfindekano



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jingim is a surprisingly gentle lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Placing a demand

Jingim, as it turns out, is a surprisingly gentle lover.

It isn’t a matter of lack of experience. The prince has his three wives—soon to be four, Marco thinks with a grimace—and no doubt has access to whichever of Kublai’s concubines take his fancy. Perhaps there are boys among them that Jingim visits, or perhaps the women have done things to him that a man might normally do. 

These are all worth considering, because Jingim knows where to touch and kiss and how to bring Marco enough pleasure to make these meetings of theirs worth repeating, though he also suspects it would end badly for him if he ever tried to put a stop to it. That’s the same reason why he allows the prince to control what they do and how and when; Jingim is not hard to read, but he has his moments of unpredictability, just as his father does, and it would be best that one of those does not result in a sword through Marco’s neck.

“Why,” Jingim asks, raising his head from where he has been trailing kisses along Marco’s stomach, “do you make that face?” His brow furrows—a look that is rather intimidating in his current position.

“I am thinking,” Marco answers.

Jingim still looks at him suspiciously, and a second later he crawls up so they are face to face. “—about what, Master Polo?”

What he means to say, Marco decides, is not an insult, so he says it. “You have gentle hands.” They are warrior’s hands, too, scarred and calloused—but he uses them gently.

Perhaps Jingim sees that difference, but he still looks puzzled. “My wives tell me they are strong.” 

“They are,” Marco agrees. In terms of force, they must be stronger than Khutulun’s, but Marco knows she fucks a great deal rougher. Then again, she must be rougher than half the men in China, so Jingim is hardly in poor company. But what the two of them do have in common is having Marco beneath them, and he thinks that ought to give him some justification for bringing this up. 

Not that he finds it easy to discuss matters of intimacy. It’s one thing to participate in it, and quite another to have a casual discussion. “I wonder if you lay with your wives the same way we—“

“I do not,” Jingim argues. Marco has the feeling it is argument more for argument’s sake than any indication of the truth.

“I think it would be befitting for you to be… less careful,” Marco continues, “when you are with me.”

Jingim does not answer right away, instead taking the time to glare down at him. Once Marco had thought that his manner was simply put on so that he might seem tougher before the Khan’s court, but he has realised for some time now that it is simply how the prince is. The rare moments of tenderness are perhaps the ones that are forced.

The moment’s pause does offer Marco an opportunity, though. He moves to brace his arms against Jingim’s shoulders before lurching upwards, reversing their positions. Jingim lands against the bed and gives a surprised and rather pleasing gasp, but he is not off-guard enough to allow Marco to pin his wrists by his sides.

“You have spent too much time with Kaidu’s daughter,” Jingim accuses.

Marco wonders how much the prince knows about that. “She is a unique woman,” he responds.

Jingim smiles. It turns out not to be an answer to Marco’s words, but a precedent for repeating Marco’s own move, flipping him back onto his back. “If you wanted to fight, Polo, we should not have come here.”

“Ah, so you care about what I want—“

Jingim interrupts that with a kiss, and Marco is pleased to find there’s more aggression behind it this time. Is impudence the secret, then? That would be a dangerous game, if so.

“Only,” Jingim mutters, and his hand runs through Marco’s hair only to tug at a fistful of curls, “because I am curious. Show me what you want. But mind where you leave bruises; I do not want my father’s—“

_Scorn? Jealousy?_ Marco interrupts with a kiss; the statement goes unfinished, to his relief. He does not think he could bear the answer either way, and better that his full attention be placed here. 


End file.
